Edwards and Wright exchanged a look and a shrug, but that was all. The XO moved over to Nathan and Kris, who turned arm-in-arm to regard him. “Captain,” he asked, “what are your orders?”
Nathan sobered. “We need to take stock on what we have thus far. Divide up the crew into maintenance teams—some for checking air integrity and supplies, the engineers and some of the twidget-types for getting whatever systems we can online, comms especially, another team to check out the SSTOS. We may need to use it as a final redoubt once the systems in the rest of the ship fail due to lack of power. The shuttle has its own reactor. We could potentially survive there for several weeks. And, lastly, we need to arm ourselves from the weapons locker—”
<discontinuity>
an infinity of white
crew reaching out blindly
something else
something among them
<discontinuity>
Stasis fell away and Nathan whirled around. He caught sight of it just as several of the crew gasped and cried out. Bodies surged back from the mess’s open hatchway, crowding up against the furthest bulkhead. It took a moment for them to clear away and give him an unobstructed view, but soon he, Wright, Edwards, and Kris were at the forefront of the assembled crew.
An alien held its position steady in the hatch’s frame. The creature they had long referred to as a Deltan was nothing that could be encapsulated by such a pedestrian, human name. This thing was the product of a different biology, a different environment, a different science. It was alien in all senses of the word.
Nathan’s mind, recoiling from the sight of something so strange, struggled to classify it, to break it down into parts which would make sense to him. In the broadest sense, it looked like the impossible crossing of a wasp and a squid.
Its upper body was hard and segmented, though its segments were not differentiated as cleanly into head, thorax, and abdomen as a terrestrial insect would be. Instead, the glossy gray segments grew narrower and longer at the top, with the last segment covered in a mix of a dozen simple multicolored eyes and four black compound eyes, with slits of unknown purpose alongside upper and lower pairs of mouths, ringed in cilia.
The segments lower on the body grew wider and shorter, eventually breaking up into overlapping plates, between each of which emerged scaled, ringed tentacles. Nathan saw at least a dozen tentacles of varying thickness supporting the creature in its position at the hatchway. The tentacles themselves appeared quite complex, branching again and again into smaller limbs and cilia, such that each one would have been capable of either delicate work or heavy lifting.
The Deltan was wrapped in a dull blue, translucent shift, and either ornamentation or instrumentation of unknown purpose. The entire alien and its garment also appeared to be covered in a uniform layer of plastic, to which a square-ish pack was attached at its back. Nathan wondered whether it was an environment suit of some sort, or if it was part of the creature’s anti-stasis generator, allowing it to move when they were frozen in place. Perhaps both?
He shook himself. Here was their first contact, the first chance they would have to perhaps avert the war over Earth that seemed inevitable now. Nathan pushed off from the crowd to approach the alien who had captured them.
He was grabbed at the last moment by the XO. Wright pulled him back to the rest of the crew and placed a hand on his chest. “No, sir. You’re not going to be the first one to talk to that thing.”
Nathan looked incredulous. “Pardon me, XO?”
Wright’s features were firmly resolved. “Not a chance, sir. You’re our captain, our leader. We live or die on your word, and you are first and foremost in charge, but you also planned this to happen a certain way.”
Nathan frowned. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed over the past year and a half, but our plans have had a depressing tendency to go by the wayside.”
“Not this one, sir. True, originally we were supposed to have a US ambassador and a couple of xenologists along for this purpose, but stealing the ship made that a moot point. And though our roles have changed to better fit the actual mission, I was originally supposed to be their liaison to the crew. With my background and training, I’m the closest thing you have to an ambassador and a linguist.”
“You’re stretching things a bit, XO. The situation has changed.”
“No, sir. Just as I led the first communiqués aboard ship, I need to lead these negotiations. You’re the captain, Nathan, but first contact has been—and is going to remain—my game. Right, Master Chief?”
Nathan turned toward Edwards. “COB?”
Edwards looked at them both, then gave the Deltan by the hatchway a critical appraisal. He faced Nathan again. “I’m with the XO on this one, Skipper.”
Nathan turned red at the seeming betrayal. “Damn it, Master Chief—”
Edwards interrupted him. “Need I remind you that last time you spoke directly to these guys, they started shooting?”
Nathan’s jaw dropped. “That is a complete mis-representation of what happened out there.”
Edwards shrugged. “It is what it is. Now, sir, please give your authorization for our XO and ambassadorial liaison to proceed with his damn job.”
Nathan fumed, but—with a final glance at the Deltan waiting at the hatchway—nodded curtly to Wright after a few moments. Wright nodded back and then pushed off from the crew to close half the distance to the alien. He stopped his flight with a quick grasp at one of the overhead’s handholds and then re-oriented himself to a more dignified standing position.
He inclined his head respectfully to the alien and smiled. “Hello. I am Lieutenant Commander Christopher Wright of the United States Aerospace Navy, and Executive Officer of the USS Sword of Liberty. In the interests of peace, and in order to settle the conflict that has arisen between our two species, I am authorized to communicate with you on behalf of the people of Earth.”
He paused. The alien did nothing but stand there. “Do you understand me? Is there another language you are more familiar with?” He turned his head to look back at Edwards. “COB, can we get the linguistic program running on the computer here in the mess?”
Before Edwards could respond, the Deltan moved. It held forth a device in one tentacle, which scintillated in a rainbow of colors. Between it and the XO, a flat image appeared in mid-air. Wright turned back to look at the image and the alien, giving both his full attention.
He smiled. The images were a series of clips, replayed snippets of television programs caught up by the Deltans from the Earth’s distant broadcasts, and now shown back to them as a form of communication, though none of them knew what the message might be.
City skylines and architecture were mixed in with sculptures, paintings, and plays. Soundless visions of singers, concerts, and comedians were cut in between biographies of famous artists and writers at work. Trailers from movies and news clips of ballet and opera openings were shown now and again. It went on for several minutes, widely varying and never repeating. It was possible the Deltans had hours upon hours of stored clips.
Wright nodded and laughed slightly. “This is art! Is that what this is all about? Have you seen our art and culture and that’s why you’re coming? What is so important about our works, that you would make such a long journey? Why haven’t you simply contacted us and asked for some sort of exchange? Why the attacks and the hostility? Please make me understand what it is you want from us.”
The alien’s head analog tilted slightly, regarding the XO. The images vanished and it lowered the device in its tentacle. Another tentacle rose up, carrying a different instrument.